That Time Eric Killed a Camp of Soldiers Over a Photo
by AglaiaWar
Summary: After losing sight of the werewolves during WWII, what exactly motivated Eric to make his way back to his progeny's side. Paric.


This is a response fic to the lovely VintageManniqueen's story "That Time Pam Did Her Part to Aid the War Effort." At 400 words it's perfectly Pam.

You can read it here: s/9055738/1/That-Time-Pam-Did-Her-Part-to-Aid-the- War-Effort

If you don't remember, Eric and Godric were chasing down Weres during the end of WWII.

Thanks to the Hansprinsessa aka the wonderful Lecterisms for writing the ending. She's clearly a magical unicorn.

* * *

One would never guess Eric was a book enthusiast. But over the centuries he had amassed quite the library. It had actually provided a wonderful starting point for Pam's understanding of Viking and Swedish literature. Of course Pam had added quite a few turn of the century romantic novels to his collection, insisting he needed more romance in his life. However, she would never have attempted to add any of these horrid paper leaflets to his impressive collection.

He did not understand the modern man's fascination with magazines. It seemed humans didn't feel they had the time to actually read and had replaced "literature" with these picture filled pages of women and cars. He preferred the real thing.

Eric tossed the magazine onto the table and sighed in exasperation. He focused his bored gaze on Godric. His maker sat across the tent, playing poker with a handful of American soldiers in the first hours of the humid night.

They'd glamoured the camp a few days prior, Godric insisting that Eric rest and feed. They'd lost track of the wolves a few weeks back, and despite Eric's protesting, were now staying with the soldiers instead of wandering_ aimlessly _through the German countryside. So here sat Eric, bored beyond belief, and still annoyed with his maker's insistence on treating him like a newborn vampire. He knew how far he could push his own limits.

He maneuvered on the makeshift chair, uncomfortable. Though they fit his maker's frame fine, the US Army fatigues were not made for the former Viking's form. He'd never admit it but he missed the perfectly tailored outfits Pam put together. More importantly, he missed his child.

It had been months since Godric had come across the trail of the vampire-blood-fueled werewolves in Russia. Eric had rushed to meet him in Europe with little hesitation, only regretting commanding a very angry Pamela to stay put in the states.

Now the trail had gone cold and Eric was seething. Godric had wanted Eric to return to his progeny's side, noting the longing his son had for his own child, and promised to inform Eric if something turned up. But despite his need to reunite with Pam, Eric's lust for vengeance had kept him searching, not able to admit to himself he'd lost the only lead he had in three centuries. That didn't stop him from wondering what his progeny was up to. He delicately felt along the bond they shared and found her to be fine, if not slightly annoyed at someone or something. A feeling of reassurance came over him knowing some things wouldn't change while he was gone. And, despite her being pissed when he finally returned to her, he knew she was completely capable of taking care of herself until then.

Eric's thoughts around Pamela were interrupted by another solider entering the tent.

"New material boys!" James, a round burly Sargent Eric found mildly entertaining for a breather, entered the tent carrying a small box. He pulled out a stack of glossy magazines covered in photos of no doubt scantily clad girls."The girls back home send their love." James was surrounded in the next moment by the eager soldiers all clambering to get their hands on the copies. Hoots and hollers filled the air and Eric rolled his eyes at the scene.

He turned his attention back to Godric, who was clearly taking this as an opportunity to lure a young redheaded solider outside. He watched the two leave and turned back to the excitement around James. He should probably follow his maker's lead. It was much easier to glamour one than fifteen. He stood to join the crowd who by now, in an all to juvenile nature, had started ranking the girls.

"Definitely page number four!"

"I don't know the sailor girl on page nine is a knockout."

"The Bookworm on the cover is by far the winner!"

"Ya! Those are some _killer_ assets."

James practically thrust the glossy images into Eric's hands. "What do you think Northman?"

Eric was sure these girls were nothing special. They certainly couldn't hold a candle to his high standards in women. He focused on the picture in his hands and had to blink to make sure he wasn't just imagining her face.

"The blonde on top is by far the winner and I'm sure we'll all get to know her intimately..." There was a hardy chuckle around the tent and James elbowed Eric, "If you know what I mean."

Eric's hands started to clench around the glossy photograph.

"And look at those lips," James continued, "I could tell her where to put those smackers!"

In the next instance Eric's hand was clenched around James' neck. He smiled as the solider dangled above the ground struggling to breathe.

In the few moments it took for Eric to literally squeeze the life out of James, the remaining soldiers didn't know how to react. But the thud of James body urged them into action.

Guns were aimed and Eric simply laughed as his fangs clicked into place. The soldiers never saw it coming. But hey, they'd at least had some small last comfort of life.

Godric strolled through the dead bodies that littered the dirt floor, "Not that I don't enjoy a good slaughter, but I thought we agreed that we'd be using these boys to refuel until we caught another lead."

Eric didn't acknowledge his maker's comment as he continued to look for the magazine he'd held earlier. The glossy photo finally caught his eyes and he snatched it from the floor.

Godric raised an eyebrow, not sure exactly what interest his son had in the photo. "Eric?"

Eric wiped the freckles of blood from the image. "Pamela."

"Your progeny?"

"Yes."

Godric moved to Eric's side examining the photo. A broad smile crossed Godric's lips, "This is your progeny?" Eric nodded. "Well she is quite beautiful. She makes quite the impression I assume..."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Eric's lips, "Yes, she always has."

In Eric's haste to kill every man who'd set their eyes on the pictures he hadn't had time to examined the photographs. But he couldn't deny, as angry as he was that she'd subjected herself to being drooled over by American soldiers across Europe, she looked gorgeous, always the seductress.

The white men's dress shirt clung to her frame as she perked on the edge of a stool. Her endless legs emerged from the shirt, the smooth milky skin ending with a pair of her prized possessions adorning her feet.

Godric noted the look of longing on his son's face, knowing it was accompanied by a need he couldn't fill. He sighed and Eric, ever attentive to his maker, dragged his eyes away from the picture to focus on Godric.

Godric smiled sadly, "Eric. The trail is gone. I do not believe we will come across another lead." Eric knew Godric was right - had been right for the last two months. "You should go home to your progeny." Godric laid a small cold hand on Eric's shoulder, "There is no shame in admitting you miss her. After all, from the way you speak of her, she's damn near perfect."

"She's insubordinate." Eric focused his attention back on the photo in his hand.

In Pam's arms, pressed to her chest, was a book. A book that she had repeatedly, in her early years, insisted Eric read. The laugh that escaped Eric's lips startled Godric.

"I think you are right Godric. I have been gone for too long."

Godric smiled, "Maybe I will come along. I'd like to meet my grandchild..."

Eric loved his maker but certainly had no desire to share, "Of course. You are always welcome Godric."

He straightened his back, his eyes still on the magazine in his hand as he added softly, "However, I cannot promise you will see much of Pamela or I." He grinned to himself, lost in the memories in their first decade together. Of how, after she had _insisted_ he teach her the language of his home, she forced him to read her bedtime stories like she was a small child instead of a bloodthirsty killer. And how every night, it was the same book, over and over again. _Den Allvarsamma Leken, _The Serious Game. A tale that fed the hopeless romantic in her. Starcrossed lovers, separated; but ultimately brought together again.

He rolled the magazine up and placed it in his jacket pocket, a wry smile in place as he started towards the opening of the tent, stepping over the bodies scattered on the ground, murmuring almost to himself, just as he took off into the darkness, "If a rekindled romance is what my child wants, it is what my child shall get."


End file.
